


Salt-Mates

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dogs, Drinking, Editor Ransom, Fluff, Happy Ending, Harry Potter books, M/M, Making Out, Meet-Cute, NHL Holster, discussions of fandom discourse, discussions of racism, the cursed child, writing fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 19:19:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11259294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Losing is dog in the park, Adam Birkholtz is pretty sure he's about to experience his worst day.  Until he finds his dog sat quietly with a gorgeous man on a bench, a Harry Potter book in his hand, giving a lecture to the animal about the tragedy that befell Remus Lupin.  That's when things get a little bit...strange.





	Salt-Mates

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mxlfoydraco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxlfoydraco/gifts).



> Written for my most favourite person in the whole world, and my very own salt-mate, Serra who helped me not only flesh out this idea, but use our salty, ranting conversations about Harry Potter and Cursed Child canon as inspiration for this fic. 
> 
> The idea was initially inspired by a tweet of a guy reading Harry Potter to a dog in the park, but I've since lost the link because I'm a bit of a disaster. I'll link it if I find it.
> 
> Warnings for extreme salt over racist/abelist coding, and queer-baiting in both HP canon and Cursed Child.

It wasn’t that Justin disliked New York. It was impossible, really, to hate a city this old, with this much history, this much life in it. He found it impossible to feel too bad when he was walking under shaded trees, feeling the warmth of spring sun, a book tucked under his arm and cup of coffee in his hand.

Yes, his job was a pain in the ass. Yes, he missed Canada sometimes so much it hurt because even though New York was _close_ , it never felt like home. But days like this he could escape outside and just…exist, wasn’t all bad.

The park was busy, but not enough that he couldn’t find a bench along a winding path. The breeze was fresh, spring with just the hint of summer humidity just round the corner. He was in his stiff work trousers, his polo a little too tight around his arms, the collar over-starched. But he was able to relax as he sat, letting the tension melt from his shoulders as he propped his ankle up over his knee, and rested his book in the triangle left between his calf and thigh.

His coffee was still warm under his hand, and he sipped it as he flipped open to the page he’d been reading earlier when the noise at the office had suddenly become too loud, too overwhelming. His anxiety was better these days, easily managed on his own after weening from his medication. He had better coping skills than his terrifying panic attacks which left him hiding under library tables, but some days things were just…a lot.

Which is what found him outside in the park with Prisoner of Azkaban open, the pages fluttering in the breeze.

He was just getting to the bit where Lupin was being called into Snape’s office to talk about the Marauder’s Map, when he felt something nudge his leg. So engrossed in the book, Justin startled and glanced up only to find a gorgeous, well-groomed, pure-bred Golden Retriever sat at his feet.

“Um,” he said, staring at the dog.

The dog’s tongue lolled out, and he smiled in spite of himself.

“Do you like…have an owner or…?” He stopped, realising he was speaking to a dog, and this was not Harry Potter, and it was not going to suddenly pop into the form of a witch or wizard with secret information. With a sigh, he extended a cautious hand, and after the dog sniffed him, then gave him a short lick, he felt for a collar.

There was one, with the name Freyr embossed on the silver tag, then an address, though no phone number. It was clearly a loved dog, and likely someone was looking for it, but the park was full and if he tried to walk the dog around, likely he’d miss the probably frantic owner.

He cocked his head at the dog, who cocked his right back, and Ransom shrugged. “Well, how about I finish this chapter, eh? And if no one’s come for you yet, we can like…call someone. Or something.” The dog made no move to get up and walk off, so Ransom cleared his throat. “It’s one of the best bits, anyway. I mean…like this is one of the reasons I have the biggest beef with the films, right? Because they not only mangle the entire scene, but they leave out the part about Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. And how the hell is Harry supposed to make the connection between the damn Stag and his _dad_ if he doesn’t know about Prongs. Plus don’t even get me _started_ on casting because it was a miracle and convincing my by roommate in college that I didn’t do my senior thesis on how badly they fucked up that movie.” He took a breath. “…and I’m rambling.”

*** 

Adam was near hysterical. He’d been having a damn good day in spite of his recent break-up, but he had some sick time he’d cashed in to get himself sorted, and he’d decided to take Freyr to the park for a short walk. The weather was good, he had energy again, and his favourite kabab guy had his cart out.

He’d just let Freyr’s leash go for a second to pay, when he turned and saw the leash on the ground, and the dog gone.

It had been a little finicky, but it wasn’t like Freyr to just dash off into the middle of a crowded park. The dog had social anxiety—and never got aggressive, but would always hide the moment strangers were around unless he was walking at Adam’s side.

Panicked, he took to a run, and began dashing up the twisting, turning path, yelling Freyr’s name, but nothing.

He was just about to lose hope when he skidded to a halt behind a bench. Though Adam had seen a lot of strange things growing up in the City, this one had him frozen to the spot. There was Freyr, sat in front of a bench with a gorgeous man wearing a salmon polo and black trousers, reading Harry Potter to his dog.

Adam recognised the words immediately. Prisoner of Azkaban. His favourite book.

“…if you made a better rat than a human, that’s not much to boast about, Peter.”

The stranger stopped, pet Freyr on the head, then sighed. “You know, when I was a kid, this part gave me so much hope. Even the rubbish like about hugging him like a brother, because it was so obvious they had something once…more than just friends. And it made sense. Lycanthropy being HIV-coded, and it didn’t occur to me that it wouldn’t have a queer man representing that. Only…she went and fucked it all up with Tonks, who by the way got the damn short end of the stick as far as her writing was concerned. I mean, Rowling is a woman, you know? How she gonna do other women bad like that, pup? Losing her powers all because some raggedy-ass white boy doesn’t want to marry her? Where the fuck did my pink-haired, bad-ass punk disappear to? Anyway, I could go on for days, but I won’t, so…”

Adam finally came to himself then, and took a step forward. It was then the dog realised Adam was stood there, and it jumped up, rushing over with his tongue lolling out to the side. Adam knelt down, profoundly aware of the Harry Potter Guy standing up, taking a few cautious steps over.

“Your dog?”

Adam glanced up and tried not to be distracted by how unbelievably gorgeous this guy was. “Yeah. And bro… _bro_ , you have no idea how glad I am he found someone who wasn’t going to like…just call animal control or some shit.”

Harry Potter Guy rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, glancing over at the bench where the book was sat, face-down. “Hah uh. Yeah like…no worries, man. I was on my lunch break and I figured he could chill with me until I was done, and then if no one found him I’d…well I don’t know. Do something, I guess.”

Adam hugged Freyr, scratching at his ears, then pushed himself up just after clipping his leash back on. He brushed some of the grass from his knees, then extended a fist out for a fist-bump. “Also, that’s like…possibly my favourite book ever, so…” He didn’t know what else to say, so he just shrugged, and tried to ignore the warmth shooting up his arms as the man’s knuckles pressed against his. “I’m Adam, by the way. Adam…”

“Birkholtz,” the guy offered, still shy.

Adam tried not to sigh. “Recognised me?”

“Bro, you won the Calder and the Cup in the same year. That’s some pretty bad-ass shit right there. I…used to play, you know? In College. Never good enough for Pro but…” He shrugged. “Anyway why are you in New York? Isn’t this like enemy territory?”

Adam laughed, rolling his eyes. “I guess you don’t stalk my wiki page. I’m from here, dude. Born and raised.”

“Shit. Islander at heart.”

“Fuck you. Rangers, thank you,” Adam said, mock-scandalised. “But if it’s all the same, can we not talk hockey? I don’t mean to sound like a dick, but my off time is like ten minutes long and goddamn I’d sit through a fucking thesis about the queer-baiting of Cursed Child before I talked another round of team stats and trades and fucking expansion drafts…”

“Bro,” Harry Potter Guy said. “Fucking…bro.” He shook his head. “Now that you got me started, I could go on for hours. Hours. I can’t even…there’s just so much…”

In spite of himself, Adam reached out and grabbed the guy by the shoulders. “Okay but…did you see the wands?”

Harry Potter Guy’s face darkened, and his eyes narrowed. “Bro. Did I see the fucking wands.” His voice dropped low. “Bro.”

*** 

Somehow, four hours later found the two of them in a bar. Harry Potter Guy—who turned out to be called Justin or Ransom or, “Rans for short—hockey name but whatever, I’m cool with whatever—” had to go back to work that afternoon, but when Adam offered drinks and more Harry Potter salt, he jumped on it with vigour.

They met just after Rans was off work, at the local a few blocks from his office. Adam was in Rangers territory, so the face of a Falc wasn’t necessarily recognisable, and since he was avoiding sport bars, they were able to get a quiet table with footie on in the background, and two beers in front of them.

“So like, you’d think I’d be so over everything literature,” Rans was saying, gesturing over a huge plate of nachos. “I mean, being that I have to do this shit every day…and you would not believe the garbage that crosses my desk.” His words were starting to slur a little. They were four beers in by now, and had gone from topic to topic, though they came back to Harry Potter every so often. “And like okay so Harry Potter is sophomoric, but it’s supposed to be. Kids novel, even if it ages and gets darker or whatever. And the idea of the Great American Novel is a myth. Like nothing is actually that profound. The classics are all pretty crap, right? None of it ages well. Even feminist literature is overwhelmingly white bullshit teeming with internal sexism of the author…” He stopped and his mouth curved into a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Fuck. I do that a lot.”

Adam, who was buzzing under his skin and pleasantly floaty and having the best fucking time he’d had in a long time, shook his head. “Bro, I could listen to you rant for hours. Hand to god. I have this friend, right? He’s dating one of my teammates, and both of them…” Adam shook his head, chuckling at the memory of Jack’s history info-dumping, and Bitty’s Beyonce and pie rants. “Not only am I used to it, but I kind of love it? I love listening to people who get passionate.”

Ransom shrugged. “I wasn’t even really that passionate about literature. At first I thought I’d be a doctor because you know…parental expectations and all that shit. But I had a literal break-down and my ex—who’s pretty much my best friend now—told me I needed to change up the script. Like all of it. And I had enough credits for a minor in Literature so…whatever. He had a friend who had a friend in the biz and the next thing you know I’ve got some cubicle in a building with shitty air-flow and a starbucks in the lobby, and I’m editing novels about really boring hetero werewolf-vampire porn.”

“I feel like you mean that literally,” Adam said.

Ransom laughed. “I fucking _do_ and I want to cry because did you know that being a book editor is like the least glamorous thing? And it pays dick, and the authors are a pain in the fucking ass. It’s like juggling a person’s ego and insecurity and trying to goad them enough on both sides just enough to finish the fucking book. I should have like a hundred Stanley Cups of editing already.”

Adam smiled, leaning his chin on his curled fist, elbow propped up on the table. “I could lend you mine if you want to pretend for a day.”

Ransom rolled his eyes. “I know for a fact you don’t get to keep the cup.”

“No,” Adam drawled, “but I have two gold medals so like…those might work.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ransom breathed. “We need more beer.”

*** 

And they got it, and they got drunker, and by ten found themselves staring at a pair of Cursed Child tickets which practically looked like they were glowing under the soft, yellow table lamp.

“Shit,” Adam said.

Ransom nodded. “Right? Like I hate this play so fucking much. I could rant for hours about how dirty they did Cedric. Like how fucking…” His voice got louder. “How fucking _dare_ they take that precious fucking Hufflepuff who has literally done no wrong thing ever in his life, and make him a Death Eater? The bro who fucking tried to cancel a match he won fair and square because he felt like Harry needed another chance like…a Death Eater. A DEATH EATER.”

“And don’t get me started on Delphi and the fucking ancient livejournal fanfic _bullshit_ ,” Adam said, slapping his hand on the bar, “that is a Voldemort/Bellatrix child. Don’t even tell me that shrivelled snake-man could procreate with a human uterus. I’m sorry but what is this, nineteen-ninety-nine?”

Ransom snorted, sloppily grabbing his beer. “And yet,” he said, waving it, sloshing a bit round the sides, “here I went and deprived myself of pumpkin spice lattes all fucking winter so I could afford these fucking tickets. Because…because I don’t care what they say, I’m going to watch Albus and Scorpius’ love story play out before my fucking very _eyes_ and the queerbaiting, queer-erasure of canon can kiss my entire ass…”

“Seriously though,” Adam said, shaking his head. “I’m such trash. I can spend hours ranting about the racist implications of the Goblins and their contribution to anti-semitism, and yet the moment some shit at Hot Topics goes on sale…where does all my money go? Do you know how many pairs of Ravenclaw Pyjamas I own, Justin? Do you?”

“I’d like to see. Also let’s talk more about racism because I’m drunk and pissed off.”

Adam smiled. “Fuck yeah. Let’s do that.”

*** 

Three _more_ beers led to what Adam liked to call his “reckless phase.” Which led to him convincing Justin to burn the tickets in the alley as an act of protest against hetero-racist-abelist-coded normativity in the Harry Potter canon.

He was drunk enough to see two little flaming piles of tickets burning right there in the alley, and two ubers when he’d only called for one, and planned on sharing with Ransom.

“I would so kiss you but I’m drunk and that’s like…so bad,” Adam said as the driver pulled up to Ransom’s place.

“Okay but you can text me and we can have a Harry Potter marathon and make out on my couch,” Ransom said, giving Adam’s cheek a pat. “But can you cuddle your dog for me? I don’t want him to get lonely without me.”

“Yeah,” Adam said, leaning back and smiling. “I can. Because wow you’re so hot and he probably misses you as much as I do. And I so wanna make out.”

After none-too-gentle prodding from the uber driver, Ransom was out, and Holster was on his way home. He threw a wad of cash at the driver in spite of the no-tip policy, tripped only twice up to his front door, and collapsed on his couch, not waking until the morning.

*** 

Regret was a terrible thing. Almost as bad as his hangover. It took Adam a hot shower, a hefty dose of pain killers, and breakfast two floors down at Jack and Bitty’s before he properly remembered everything. It was into his second cup of coffee that he remembered the little alley-way bonfire, and he dropped his head to the breakfast bar.

“Oh fuck.”

Bitty, who was busy pulling a quiche out of the oven, turned. “And what did you remember now?”

Adam looked up, his cheeks burning, and he saw Jack raising an eyebrow at him out of the corner of his eye. “I um…might have convinced him to burn his Cursed Child tickets in the alley as an act of protest.”

“Oh you didn’t,” Bitty said, his voice near a whisper. “Honey…those tickets are sold out. Like…sold out sold out.”

Adam covered his face. “I fucking know. I tried to buy some but all that was left were re-sales and I didn’t want to spend my entire year’s salary on a goddamn play.”

Jack sighed. “You do realise you might have to now, right? Because my guess is he spent more money than he probably had on those tickets, and they probably weren’t insured.”

*** 

“Don’t vomit on the floor.”

Justin stopped spinning in his spinny chair and glowered over at Lardo who was giving him an unimpressed stare. “My hang-over and regret is so fucking bad right now, if I’m not puking simply from existing, I’m not going to puke from spinning in my chair. And it’s fun.”

“I’m trying to work,” she said, but she was leant back, feet up on the edge of her desk. Ransom could see her computer screen opened up to her editing software, the beginnings of a book cover starting to take shape, but her stylus was propped up with a few others in a fake flower pot, covered in colourful post-it petals. “What the fuck did you even do last night?”

Justin dragged a hand over his face. “Bro, do not even ask. I barely remember half of it, and most of it was pretty fucking sweet, only what I thought was my worst nightmare actually turned out to be like…true.”

Spinning in her chair, she faced him and leant over her knees, hands dangling between them. “Spill. I need deets like right now.”

Justin sighed, and pressed his face into his hands and muttered. “I burnt my Cursed Child Tickets in a fit of salty rage in the alley behind a bar last night.”

There was a long pause, and when he peered through his fingers, he saw her staring at him—blank faced. “Okay. I thought I just heard you, Justin Olruansi—Mr Harry Potter is the only thing I live for and I will give my entire life for James Potter—say he burnt his Cursed Child tickets which I clearly mis-heard because I did have to listen to you bitching for three fucking _months_ about not buying your shitty coffee to buy those tickets and…”

“And you didn’t mis-hear me because apparently drunk me is a fucking idiot and apparently drunk me will be convinced by equally drunk, ridiculously hot hockey players that the best way to stick it to the man, or whatever, is to burn those tickets. So…I did.”

“Ho-lee-shit,” Lardo said, and stood up. She yanked him up by his arm and began to drag him toward the lifts. “Now these are deets worth getting bitched at for.”

*** 

Forty minutes and two coffee refills later, and Justin had successfully recalled, out loud, every detail he could remember. From meeting Adam’s dog in the park, to their parting in the uber. “I think it was by miracle alone I didn’t ralph all over his shoes in the uber. And Jesus like…what the fuck is even wrong with me?”

“You mean apart from the fact that you met your fucking soul mate, who happens to be a rich, famous NHL player who loves Harry Potter—and I guess hates it?—as much as you do?”

“Bro, it’s not even…”

“Nope,” Lardo said. “Literally anything you say is automatically invalid. I don’t even care what argument you think you have. You’re gonna marry him and junk.”

“You’re the worst,” he grumbled. “Anyway we didn’t even exchange numbers, and he probably thinks I’m an idiot anyway.”

“You could tweet him,” she pointed out.

“And say what, exactly? Hi, I’m the stupid fuck who burnt my hard earnt money on a play that I spend hours of my life bitching about, and got so schwasted I embarrassed myself beyond recognition. Wanna get coffee?”

“It’s a start,” she said.

Justin pushed up from the table. “I think I’ll leave myself to wallow in my own mortification and regret, and internet stalk all the people who will get to see the show I might get tickets for in five years.”

She gave him a sigh, and pointed stare, but Justin was in no mood to argue. He felt like he’d really let something slip, and he wasn’t talking about the tickets.

*** 

Shuffling from one foot to the other, Adam glanced at the building’s entrance. The lobby was wide, bright, the Starbucks there just like Ransom had said, with a fairly long queue of harrowed editors and annoyed authors trying to get their caffeine fix.

He had the tickets in his pocket, and he wasn’t sure what he was doing couldn’t be considered stalking, especially since though Ransom said he wanted to make out—he was drunk, and he hadn’t offered his number. But he was consumed with guilt over convincing the guy that burning Broadway tickets was in any way a good idea. He’d pointedly stated he’d given up shit just to buy them.

Adam felt like scum.

So he took a breath, and walked in, and strolled to reception with what he hoped was a charming smile. “Hi. So like I…need to talk to a guy who works here.”

The guy behind the computer gave him a flat stare. “Do you now?”

“Okay that sounded weird and stupid,” Adam said, trying again. “So I had a date? Okay maybe it was…oh my god okay shut up, Adam.” He took a breath. “I came here to drop off tickets to Justin.”

“Justin,” he said, his voice drawling out the question for a second name.

“Oh fuck,” Adam groaned. “I don’t even know, and you probably have like nine-hundred Justins here, right?”

“Twenty-six,” the guy said dryly.

Adam scrubbed a hand down his face, then took a step back. “Uh, super tall, like ridiculously good looking. Black guy, played hockey, goes by Ransom…”

It was obvious the receptionist knew the moment he said Ransom, but there was hesitation in his voice when he said, “And what exactly are you dropping off?”

“Harry Potter tickets?” he said, his voice small and sheepish.

The guy held up a finger, then got on the phone, talking too quiet for Adam to hear. When he put the phone down, he jutted his chin over at the chairs. “You can wait there.”

Adam was full of jitters, his knees unable to keep still, even as he sat. He bounced them, grateful there wasn’t anyone nearby, and every time the lifts dinged, he felt like he was going to fly out of his skin. It took nearly five full minutes, but eventually the doors opened, and Ransom stepped out.

He looked every bit as gorgeous as Adam remembered—maybe even more so, even with the hesitance on his face. Adam flew to his feet the moment Justin walked over, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Okay this is probably way creepy—me showing up here but…”

“What are you doing here?” Justin asked, but it wasn’t unkind. It was more…surprised.

“So I felt like the biggest asshole on the planet. Burning those tickets was totally my fault and…”

“Bro,” Justin said, shaking his head. “You were just as drunk as me, and I was the one who nearly knocked that guy down to get his lighter. You were so not at fault.”

“I was. I…don’t know when to shut the fuck up, and the funny thing is, I totally wanted to see the play too and I don’t even know how pissed off I’d be if some drunk rando convinced me the best way to middle finger canon was to burn the fucking tickets I worked so hard for. So um…” He reached into his pocket, pulling out the envelope. “I’m not even sure what seats you had, but these were the literal only ones left.”

With trembling fingers, Ransom took the envelope, peered inside, and then looked up with wide eyes. “Bro. Like…no. I can’t.”

“Fuck,” Adam said. “Worse, right? Worse seats? I’m so sorry, I just…”

“Bro,” Ransom said, breathy and soft, making the words die on Adam’s lips. “These are so fucking expensive and good. I saved up for three months for shit seats, dude. Like obscured view kind of shit. These are…holy fucking shit. I can’t…there’s no way I can take these.”

When he tried to hand them back, Adam’s fingers curled over Justin’s, pushing them away. “Please take them. It’s seriously the least I can do.”

There was a battle of wills, a long moment of intense staring. Then Justin’s face went lax and so did his hands, even though he didn’t pull them away. “One condition.”

Adam felt his chest expand with relief. “Anything. Literally, because I cannot live with this guilt.”

The corner of Justin’s mouth twitched as he met Adam’s gaze fully and intensely. “Go with me.”

Adam’s eyes widened. “Uh…”

“As in a date,” Justin clarified. “I mean…if you want to.”

“If I want…bro…ch’yeah I fucking want. Jesus I wasn’t sure you…I mean you were kind of drunk and we were just pissed off and salty and…”

“I’ve been reliably informed,” Ransom said, pulling Adam a little closer, the bite of the envelope against his palm barely noticeable now, “that my soulmate is made of just as much salt as I am. So…it seems the reasonable thing to do.”

Adam swallowed. “Fair enough. Pick you up at six.”

“But no drinks. And you’d better be fucking wearing robes,” Ransom said.

Adam’s face lit up like a menorah, his cheeks pink, and his eyes sparkling like a two-thousand and four Dumbledore fanfic. “Bro. You have no idea how far I can nerd out. No idea.”

Ransom smiled at him, then finally let go. “I think I might have some.”

*** 

“Is it weird that I still kind of feel like crying, even though we’re making out?” Justin muttered against Adam’s lips.

Adam’s fingers drifted to Justin’s waist, pressing into the skin there. “No? I mean okay maybe? But like every few minutes I think about James Potter and my entire soul gets like crushed again. Why? Why do I have to live through his death twice? I’m a good fucking person. I dedicated my entire life to Jesus Christ, and this is the thanks I get.”

Justin snorted, pushing his face into Adam’s neck, pressing a soft kiss there. “I feel like…I need to channel my inner fanfic writer who I put to sleep in oh-seven, and do a re-write. Because I literally cannot get over the fact that Albus and Scorpius are fucking soul-mates, and they are not going to Remus and Tonks this shit again. They are not.”

With a huge grin, Adam shuffled Justin to the side, then grabbed for his bag and pulled out a small tablet. With a few swipes, a word programme was up, and the keyboard at the bottom of the screen. “Once upon a time?”

Justin nestled into his side with a small sigh, nodding against his shoulder as he wrapped his arms round Adam’s waist. “I think all good stories start with a once upon a time.”

“And end with a happily ever after?”

Justin grinned at him, and let his eyes close a little as Adam kissed him once more. Breaking for air, he murmured against his lips, “Ch’yeah, bro. Happily ever after.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have set up a new tumblr which I'm using to log/tag my fics and you're more than welcome to come find me and yell about fandom things. It's going to be a multi-fandom blog, and I won't be too active on it thanks to all this Uni stuff but...all the same, feel free to come and say hi! [angryspace-ravenclaw](https://angryspace-ravenclaw.tumblr.com)


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